


Sleep Deprivation (FebuWhump 19)

by SylvanFreckles



Series: Freckles' FebuWhump 2021 [19]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bathing, Febuwhump, Friendship, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Sleep Deprivation, is it gay to wash your homey's feet?, up to interpretation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:14:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29667819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylvanFreckles/pseuds/SylvanFreckles
Summary: Geralt hasn't slept in six days, too busy trying to keep himself and Jaskier out of the hands of a wizard with a petty grudge. When they finally have a chance to rest, it's Jaskier's turn to look after Geralt so that the witcher can get some much-needed rest.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Freckles' FebuWhump 2021 [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139234
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31
Collections: febuwhump 2021





	Sleep Deprivation (FebuWhump 19)

“Easy, easy,” Jaskier cautioned. He had one of Geralt's arms around his shoulders and was fighting to keep both of them upright on the inn's rickety stairs. “Almost there.”

Geralt managed a grunt in reply, but Jaskier could see his friend's jaw working furiously as he tried to frame a response. They'd been on the run for nearly a week now, pursued by a wizard named Davafe who'd formed a semi-religious order around protecting the magical creatures of the land. And while Geralt refused to take a contract against an intelligent or benign creature, this wizard and his followers protested the killing of any and all monsters.

Including the drowners that had been washed into the village's streets with the spring floods. By the time Geralt and Jaskier arrived the drowners had killed nearly a dozen women and children—and the wizard did nothing but preach about the balance of the world and threaten any man who dared lift a sword.

So Geralt had killed the drowners, before they could drag another child to a watery death, and he and Jaskier fled ahead of the wizard's vengeance.

Jaskier's hands were practically shaking with exhaustion as he finally shoved open the door to the room he'd rented. “Here we go, Geralt. Just sit...right...there.” The witcher dropped onto the low stool with a sigh of relief and Jaskier straightened back up, casting his gaze over the room.

He'd paid extra for the one that looked over the main street, where he could best keep an eye out for their pursuers. They hadn't seen Davafe for over a day now, though it was probably too much to hope they'd finally lost his trail.

A knock on the door had Jaskier flinching out of his own thoughts, and he hurried to accept the buckets of steaming water the innkeeper offered. There was neither the time nor the place for a full bath, but they could afford the luxury of wiping the road dust away.

“Come on, Geralt. Let's get your boots off,” Jaskier patted his friend on the shoulder, then crouched in front of him to get a firm grip on the travel-worn leather.

The witcher seemed to rouse a little, eyes staring down at the bard through shadows as deep and dark as bruises. He let out a long, deep sigh and shifted his weight on the stool, angling his foot so Jaskier could tug the boot free. “What are you doing?”

“You're going to have a good wash and get some sleep,” Jaskier replied. “Six days is pushing it, even for you.”

“I can't.”

“Yes, you can.” With a fierce tug, Jaskier pulled the other boot away. “Besides, you reek,” he complained.

It wasn't exactly fair—neither of them smelled particularly wonderful after so long on the road, but Jaskier would argue that since he couldn't very well smell _himself_ he was perfectly in his right to complain about how the witcher smelled.

Besides, Geralt had been the one keeping them going. Leading both horses while Jaskier dozed in the saddle, keeping watch in the depths of the night, eyes always on the trail behind them for some sign of Davafe's pursuit. 

“I'm all right,” Geralt protested as Jaskier knelt down and dipped the corner of one towel in the hot water. “We should keep moving.”

Jaskier heaved out a sigh and shook his head, focusing on wiping away the sweat and dirt from his friend's feet. “Tunic, Geralt.”

“Jaskier,” the witcher's voice was nearly a growl.

The bard rested one hand on his hip and narrowed his eyes up at his friend's exhausted features. “You haven't slept in six days, Geralt. I know you have abilities far beyond mine, but even you have your limits.”

Geralt's shoulders relaxed fractionally. Jaskier tapped him meaningfully on the knee. “Tunic off, Geralt. You'll feel better.”

He busied himself with their packs while his friend stripped out of his travel-stained clothing. Geralt didn't travel with much, but there was a nightshirt of questionable origin that would suit Jaskier's purpose just fine. He turned back around to find Geralt laboriously wiping the damp towel over his bare chest and arms. 

Jaskier gently combed through Geralt's hair, ridding it of the dirt and leaves from their travels, while the witcher finished his makeshift bath. “Feel better?”

Geralt grunted. “I'll take first watch.”

“Oh, no, you don't,” Jaskier shoved the nightshirt into Geralt's arms. “You are going to climb right into that lovely bed and get some rest. I'll take first watch...and second...and if you're a good witcher and have pleasant dreams I might even take the third.”

“Jaskier...”

“Don't even,” the bard pressed a finger to Geralt's lips to silence him. “You haven't closed your eyes once in the last six days, don't think I haven't noticed. I can spare one night's sleep.”

Geralt leveled a fierce, tired stare at him. “You're no match for a wizard, Jaskier.”

Jaskier threw his head back and laughed. “As if I'd try! My dear Geralt, one sight of that pompous idiot and I'll shout you awake so quickly you'd think the Meletile herself was descending to put an end to my lascivious ways once and for all!”

His words had the desired effect and Geralt's shoulders relaxed a little more. The witcher cast a longing glance at the bed, then back to Jaskier. “You sure you'll be all right?”

“Please,” Jaskier scoffed. He hauled Geralt off of the stool and shoved him toward the bed. “I could use the quiet, anyway. Darling, dim-witted Davafe has given me inspiration for a new song, and you know how restless I am until I heed the muse's call.”

Geralt paused, nightshirt halfway over his head. “You'll wake me if there's any sign of trouble?”

“I'll wake you _before_ there's any sign of trouble,” Jaskier countered.

Nonsensical as that was, it seemed to finally convince Geralt. Without another word of complaint, the witcher had climbed under the blankets and seemed asleep before his head had even touched the pillow.

Jaskier shook his head fondly and slid the low stool over to the window. It would be a long night staring out at the empty street, watching for any sign of their pursuers, but it would be worth it. After all, it was the least he could do after all that Geralt had done for him.

**Author's Note:**

> I got the wizard's name from a name generator, so my apologies if he actually appears somewhere in the canon.


End file.
